


King of Corpses and Trash

by Wandering_Snowleaf



Category: Warriors - Erin Hunter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-02
Updated: 2018-03-02
Packaged: 2019-03-25 23:32:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13845351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wandering_Snowleaf/pseuds/Wandering_Snowleaf
Summary: A slightly modified story of mine originally from Fanfiction where Bone ends up surviving the battle against the forest Clans and tries to carry his tired and battered Clan out of the ashes of their past defeat and avenge those who were lost.





	King of Corpses and Trash

**Author's Note:**

> On Fanfiction the story is called Bone Survived by Wandering Snowleaf, but I'm changing a few things.

The air was cold and the world was black. He tried to open his eyes but his eyelids were so heavy that even the simple action was a struggle. "Where am I" he mewed, his voice seemed too shrill to be his own. His head spun and his whole body felt like it was burning and freezing at the same time. With a hiss, he forced his eyes open and gazed around at his surroundings.

The world was desolate and gray, full of shadows and dark stains on the street and walls. He was in a housefolk's place, he knew that. How he had gotten there was a different story. In fact, he couldn't remember anything; even about himself. What was his name? Did he have a name? Where did he come from? His paws were splayed around him, the short black fur doing nothing to jog his memory.

With a wobbly first try, he got to his paws, eyes sweeping over the tattered houseplace that lay before him. The buildings were crumbling and decrepit, the gray windows shattered, and glass was strewn across the cold ground. The only light came from the flickering lamp posts that lined the street and occasionally from the inside of a nearby window or door that was ajar. This place wasn't home, he knew that for sure, but he had no idea which way to go if he wanted to return to where he belonged.

He padded towards one of the collapsed structures. It may have been home to a family of housefolk at some point and he expected to see or hear some sign of life. But there was none. Something crunched beneath his paw and he looked down to see the smashed bones of a tiny mouse. To his surprise, more bones of all sizes lay around him. Most were small like those of birds and rats, but every here and there he could spot the larger remains of cats, and even dogs.

Surely he would run into some other cat and they could tell him who or where he was. He continued down the street, doing his best to avoid the corpses that filled every nook cranny and stretch of foul earth. To his horror, he realized some of the bodies still had flesh that clung to the pasty white ribs and skulls. A particularly vile carcass of a cat lay in dark pool of black blood, the eyes staring mournfully at him as he padded by. It may have been a trick of the light but he could have sworn they followed him.

"Hello?" he called loudly, his mew echoing through the hallow streets, high pitched and hostile. He was scared now. There was no answer and he was starting to panic. The world was completely quiet, there wasn't even a breeze to rattle the dry bones that surrounded him. Not even a heartbeat.

His own heartbeat!

He stopped, realizing that something was terribly wrong. He frantically pressed his ear to his own chest, his spine twisting and popping as he strained to hear the pounding of his own heart. There was none. "Am I dead?" he mewed in shock, his voice still foreign to him. A sudden understanding swept across his mind and a faint memory flitted through his thoughts.

He had been in battle, his claws reinforced with dog teeth as he slashed at his enemies. He thought he had killed his adversary, he could have sworn he had seen him stop moving. But then the creature was back, fighting like a fox in a fit.

He suddenly remembered his own name, the word slipping off his tongue like a slab of meat.

"I am Scourge."


End file.
